Part of the Furniture
by natalieashe
Summary: Q and Bond have temporarily moved into 221b. Sherlock and John's relationship has lost some of it's spice and John is feeling under-appreciated. Bond thinks he has the skills to fix that. Follows on from Belated Introductions but slightly less fun. Rated for M/M sex eventually.
1. Chapter 1

Of Sherlock's two siblings, it was Q that John preferred to spend time with. The youngest Holmes had the sharp wit and frightening intelligence of his brothers, but was altogether more human, for all his passion for all things tech. It had taken a handful of weeks for John to get over his embarrassment at unexpectedly having a wet handful of the younger man, but eventually Q's humor over the whole not-Sherlock-in-the-shower incident convinced him that it really wasn't something worth beating himself over the head with. They bonded over tweaks to John's blog and tea, Q being the only man in the world who could possibly rival John's intake on a daily basis. Yes, John liked Q a great deal, which was why he felt more than a little guilty at being completely and utterly in lust with his boyfriend.

John was steadfast, loyal, honest, and completely in love with Sherlock Holmes, who, it had to be said, took him for granted and made his life difficult on a daily basis. John didn't indulge in superficial fancies or frivolous flirtations, not even as an escape from the frustrations of loving the world's only Consulting Detective; it just wasn't really _him,_ but his attraction to James Bond hit him like a bolt of lightning. Bond was the kind of man who made a memorable first impression. Half naked, and steadily pointing a gun at John's chest, was certainly a _lasting_ impression. It was only afterwards, when the adrenaline had receded and he was making bucket loads of tea for a flat full of half-dressed men, that John had allowed himself to dwell on Bond's impressive physique. Shallow of him, definitely, but really, the man was gorgeous. Badly used, judging by the scars, but he wasn't exactly unblemished himself. Clearly military background, and now employed by MI6, the man was _lethal_ and John always had found dangerous men enticing. He spent an awful lot of time pretending not to watch the god-like creature that had unexpectedly crashed their flat with his skinny boyfriend while their own was repaired following an unfortunate incident with a terrorist and an exploding pen.

Bond knew, of course. The man seemed to share Sherlock's casual attitude to clothing, appearing half naked at odd hours around 221b, completely at ease with his body in a way John could never be. When he caught John looking, which was far more often than was acceptable, he smirked and pinned him with his laser gaze until John grew flustered and blushed, hurrying off to find something to do. He reminded John of a big cat, jaguar perhaps, sleek but powerful, dangerous and very beautiful. The proximity was killing him. Sherlock, the most observant man John had ever known, was oblivious to the sexual tension that was building in the flat. Q swatted Bond's arm from time to time, chuckling and scolding him to stop flirting, apologizing on his boyfriend's behalf like it really didn't matter to him. Perhaps it didn't. Q didn't seem the insecure type, and Bond was so loving and attentive when they were in the same room it was nauseating.

"Occupational requirement," chuckled Q when John casually brought it up. "Doesn't even know he's doing it most of the time. Don't take it personally."

John wanted to take it personally, very much so. The attention was flattering, _definitely_ arousing. John was not a man who needed his ego stroking on a regular basis but it had been so long since anyone had looked at him so intently and actually _seen_ him. He was little more than furniture to Sherlock these days. They only had sex if John initiated it, and even then it was quick, functional, lacking in any sort of passion, his lover's attention already drifting onto something else.

He looked across the room. This time Bond was watching _him_, shrewd blue eyes unwavering, slight upturn to his mouth, not quite a smile. Assessing, examining, evaluating. John felt like one of Sherlock's specimens, laid out for study and pinned down with those incredible eyes. He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself discreetly. Bond's eyes traveled down his body, slowly, deliberately, lingering on his groin. The bastard licked his lips and that was it! John was out of his seat like a shot, bolting for the kitchen and the soothing ritual of tea. Bond followed, sliding into the kitchen with a sinful smile.

"You're not exactly subtle," he purred, leaning on the kitchen counter close enough to brush John's arm.

"Don't!" John yelped snatching his arm away, glancing anxiously at the living room where the brothers were engrossed in Q's laptop.

"They aren't aware John, its fine." He reached around the shorter man for a mug, personal space clearly an alien concept. Bond's hand rested briefly on John's hip, his groin brushing John's arse, and with a jolt John realized Bond was half hard.

"What are you _doing_?" John hissed.

"Flirting. I thought that was fairly obvious, blatant even," Bond smirked. "If you're not interested, I apologize."

"Of course I'm bloody interested, because I'm bloody _pissed off_ with... It's just... _Jesus_, um…" Bond waited patiently for John's mouth to catch up with his brain, which was veering like a skittish pony between desire and guilt. They didn't have to actually… Could just be a bit of fun? "Q said you have an open relationship...?"

"For work purposes."

"This isn't work."

"No." Bond trailed his hand down the other man's chest, sliding along the waist band of his jeans, hooking a finger in the fabric of his shirt to tug it free at the back.

"And Q would be ok with this?"

"Debatable."

When his cool fingers touched bare skin John made a tiny sound of pleasure that made Bond exhale slowly. Encouraged he leaned in and brushed his lips over John's in a light kiss that held a wicked promise.

"Christ," John breathed. "What the hell are we doing...?"

"If you two are making tea, we'll have some," Sherlock's imperious voice called from the living room. John stepped back so violently he collided with the counter, swearing at the pain that shot through his elbow. Bond chuckled softly, walking awkwardly from the room. John stayed where he was, deliberately turning off the kettle to delay making the tea until his erection could subside. Mercifully it didn't take long and he was able to deliver tea to the Holmes brothers without them noticing anything amiss. He still let the newspaper fall into his lap when Bond returned a while later looking distinctly smug, winking at John who blushed crimson behind his mug. Bond wriggled behind Q on the sofa placing an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of his young lover's neck, and Q settled back against him with a sigh of contentment.

"You've been staring at that laptop for hours," grumbled Bond good-naturedly. "We were starting to feel neglected, weren't we John?"

"What? Oh, um... Yes!"

"Dinner? My treat?"

"You three go, I'm not hungry," Sherlock stated, unfolding his long body from the floor and heading for their bedroom. John frowned.

"Come on Sherlock, we haven't been out for ages," he pleaded, hating how whiny he sounded but he just wanted to spend some time with his boyfriend and was that really too much to ask? "What's so important it can't wait until tomorrow when we're working and you have the place to yourself?"

"Yes, come out with us Lockie, please?" Q begged, using his childhood nickname, but Sherlock shook his head.

"Have a good evening. I probably won't hear you when you come in." He retreated into the bedroom, door closing firmly behind him.

"You're still welcome to tag along John," Q said kindly, shaking his head at his brother's insensitivity. John cast his eye over the couple's fingers, laced together in a casual demonstration of cozy togetherness and felt a surge of anger at his partner for dismissing him like he didn't matter in the slightest.

"No, its fine thanks. Third wheel and all that... I'll order take away and watch crap telly. Early night maybe." he said miserably.

"Give me your phone," Bond said. John handed it over curiously and watched the blond man key in some data and hand it back. "My private mobile number, in case you change your mind. Text me to test it."

John did so, sending a simple 'thanks' which buzzed into Bond's pocket a moment later. Q turned as they were heading out the door. "Bear with him John. He does care; he's just crap at showing it."


	2. Chapter 2

The fight was inevitable and frustratingly one sided. John simmered for twenty minutes expecting Sherlock to emerge from the bedroom when he heard the couple leave but the door remained resolutely shut. Fuming, he barged in without knocking - it was _his_ bedroom too after all - to find Sherlock lying on his back on the bed, eyes closed, hand working furiously beneath the thin cotton of his pyjama bottoms to bring himself off. For John, who hadn't had a meaningful sexual experience with his partner in weeks, it was the final straw. He let rip with a tirade of all the hurts and frustrations that had been building up without letting Sherlock speak a word and stormed out of the flat ten minutes later intent on drowning his sorrows.

Halfway down his fourth pint his mobile chimed in his pocket. Bond.

_Where are you? Sherlock said you yelled at him and walked out._

**Is he sorry?**

_Not noticeably. Q is yelling at him too now. Want me to come find you?_

John thought about it for a couple of minutes. He was so angry, fed up and hurt, so tired of not being a priority to Sherlock any longer, so sick of being invisible... Knowing it was a supremely bad idea, and not caring, he told Bond where to find him.

John stood near the wall glaring at the floor silently broadcasting to everyone near him that he was a man who wanted to be left alone with his beer, so it caused a bit of a stir when the stunning blond man walked confidently up to him and kissed him thoroughly, extricating the glass from his hand and blindly setting it down without spilling a drop. John groaned, bunching his fists in Bond's shirt and pulling him closer, attacking his mouth with ferocious lips and tongue until there was an abrupt clearing of throat behind them. They broke apart, flushed and breathless.

"Let's get out of here."

They walked in silence for a while, in the opposite direction to Baker Street. John didn't want to go home, and Bond was content to follow wherever he did want to go as long as he got to kiss the shorter man again. The agent reached for John's hand, twining their fingers together, and John stared at the link between them like it was something wondrous and alien. Bond pulled him into the shadows, kissing his knuckles tenderly, lips caressing the skin drawn tight over his bones. He grazed his teeth over each one, blessing it with a kiss before moving on. It was one of the most erotic sensations John had ever experienced whilst fully clothed. "Why are you doing this?" John asked quietly.

"Kissing your hand?"

"All of it. You love Q."

"Of course, and you love Sherlock even though he's an insufferable insensitive bastard. I'm not interested in a relationship, but I want you. I want to make you feel amazing for a while, because you deserve it and your idiot boyfriend hasn't a clue what he's missing out on. You're a physical man, you need to be touched. If Sherlock doesn't realise it soon you'll look for sex elsewhere. Better to be with someone who can fulfil your needs honestly without any intention of taking you away from your relationship. Do you want that John? If not, I'll back off, won't say any more about it."

"You make it sound like therapy." gasped John as the taller man's lips travelled down his neck to the juncture of his shoulder, pausing to suck a pale pink mark into his skin beneath his shirt collar.

Bond chuckled against his neck leaning into his body to hold him against the wall with his hips. "If you like. Relationship counselling, only less talking, more fucking." He moved to John's lips and the kiss was slow, sensual, teasing, eagerly returned. John couldn't remember the last time he had shared kisses just for the joy of it. "Sex is a tool like any other John. We should get back though, before Q hijacks the CCTV to find us."

"He can do that?"

"Oh yes," Bond grinned. "He has trackers on me and can pinpoint me to within a few feet whenever he wants to. Manipulates cameras to keep an eye on me."

"So he could be watching us now...?"

"I love to live dangerously," he laughed walking away down the street.

In the dark hallway of Baker Street John found himself pushed roughly against the front door, sagging into a bruising kiss that left him desperate for more, but Bond wheeled away, running lightly up the stairs. He wasn't surprised to find the 00-agent passionately snogging his boyfriend when he entered the flat. When the kiss subsided Q gazed lovingly into Bond's eyes, a questioning smile on his swollen lips.

"Not that I'm complaining but...?"

"Just because," Bond laughed, dropping onto the sofa and pulling the younger man into his lap in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs. Q snuggled into his shoulder, moaning appreciatively when his lover tangled his fingers in his hair, firmly massaging over his scalp. "I swear you were a cat in a former life."

"Meow!" Giggled Q playfully, butting his cheek against Bond's lightly stubbled jaw like a kitten wanting to be petted. "Mm... Scratchy."

John thought he should probably be gagging from the saccharine sweetness or sour from jealousy, but he found he only felt emptiness. Sherlock had never been overly tactile even when their relationship was good, so he couldn't say he was pining for something lost, but he felt the lack of contact from the man he loved like a physical ache when faced with Bond and Q's loving partnership.

"Sherlock went out," Q said apologetically, suddenly recalling John's presence.

"Ok. I'm off to bed. Goodnight."


	3. Chapter 3

The detective returned in the early hours, ghosting silently through the sleeping flat, pausing in the bedroom doorway. He surveyed the still figure of his lover curled in the top third of the bed, duvet tucked tightly around his body like armour made of cotton and goose down. Sherlock sighed, looking to the streetlight shining through the window, hoping it would give him an answer to the confusing mass of _emotions_ that John was throwing at him on a daily basis, expecting him to understand and respond in some way.

Sherlock understood it wasn't considered good manners to excuse oneself to from polite company to masturbate, so he hadn't _said_ that was what he intended to do. The erection had been a nuisance, interfering with his ability to process the fascinating data on neurotoxin delivery mechanisms that Q had shared with him in the afternoon, so he had done the practical thing and dealt with it. He wasn't hungry; therefore saw no reason to accompany his sibling and their partners to a restaurant, when he could make better use of his time, once relieved, to attempt to build a small delivery system that could be housed in a retractable ballpoint pen. Sexual contact just wasn't a priority activity for him and John knew that, they had _talked_ about it, but now the lack of regular intimacy was suddenly a problem worthy of yelling?

Q had also yelled at him, and that was _odd_. Q didn't shout. When he was angry or upset Q became quiet, not loud, so bellowing was unusual behaviour for his little brother. He also seemed to be enjoying being cross with Sherlock a bit too much which was definitely strange because upset between them was always distressing for Q right from early childhood. Q would not encourage conflict. He would always back down and let Sherlock win as long as they could part friends, but tonight Q had told him he was insensitive and uncaring and that he was _ashamed_ of him! It was disturbing and perplexing.

With a frustrated sigh, he undressed, sliding into bed beside John. His doctor stirred sleepily. "Sherlock…?"

"Mm. Would you prefer me to sleep elsewhere...?"

"What…? No. Go to sleep."

Sherlock lay wakeful in the darkness for hours.

When John woke Sherlock was already gone from the bed, and from the chill on the sheets he had left some time ago. John sighed, rolling onto his back, stretching out his limbs. His hand trailed down his stomach fluttering over his semi-erect cock, wondering if a morning wank would make him feel less irritable, when there was a discreet cough from the chair by the window.

"Fuck!"

Bond chuckled, and the delectable sound made John two shades harder.

"What are you doing in here?"

"Interrupting, apparently," he smirked. "Sherlock is in the shower so I brought tea."

The sheets pooled at John's waist when he pulled himself to sitting, shoving all the pillows behind his back. Bond indicated the mug on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed, too close, not close enough.

"May I?" He asked, waiting for John's nod before stroking a finger over the scar on his shoulder mapping its landscape, hard ridges, and glacier smooth planes, far more dramatic than it should have been thanks to the limitations of a field hospital over civilian surgery. John wasn't aware he was holding his breath until Bond lowered his head to delicately trail the tip of his tongue over the irregular skin. Abruptly he felt like the room was too small, too hot. He exhaled with such force it became a perilously needy gasp and all the blood remaining in his body rushed south.

"I didn't have the chance to truly appreciate you before," the agent whispered between feather-light kisses, "and regrettably I don't have the time to do so now, but ever since you stepped out of that shower I've been thinking of all the ways I could have you."

John whimpered, flushing with embarrassment at how desperate he must sound. Bloody Sherlock and his non-existent sex drive. Bloody Sherlock who had just opened the bathroom door and would be back in the bedroom in about thirty seconds. Bond sat back with a grin, coolly rising from the bed like nothing had happened, effortlessly sliding back into 'amiable house guest' mode when Sherlock walked in.

"Just comparing battle scars. They make a man wonderfully unique, don't you think? Tea, Sherlock?"

"Yes… Thank you."

John skulked behind his mug, trying to lose the ruffled expression and hide the impressive hard-on Bond had raised. If Sherlock hadn't encountered the agent in their room John may have tried his luck with his lover, but it wouldn't take a man of anywhere near Sherlock's intelligence to put two and two together and come up with the blindingly obvious.

"I don't trust him," Sherlock said scowling at the closed bedroom door.

"Why?"

"He's altogether too smug. And our mother likes him. She _always_ hates our partners, Q's in particular because he's her baby, but she actually _likes_ that Neanderthal!"

"She likes _me_." Sherlock's expression was eloquent. "_Why_? What's _wrong_ with me?"

"You're too short. She thinks short men are suspect."

"What? She dislikes me on the grounds of my _height_? That is bloody ridiculous!" John rolled out of bed, practically snapping to attention in his indignation.

"Quite! There are far more obvious reasons, after all, but Mummy has always been a little odd." Sherlock smirked, looking pointedly at John's groin.

"Oh for god's sake… Yes, Sherlock I have a bloody erection, it happens!"

"Not normally while we're discussing my mother, unless I've missed something…?"

"Well maybe if you paid it some attention once in a while it wouldn't spring up at inopportune moments, like discussing why your mother hates me because I'm not a bloody beanpole like her bloody sons!"

Sherlock snorted back a laugh. John looked down at his cock, still rock hard in spite of the preposterous conversation, and chuckled. He curled his arms around Sherlock's waist; pressing his naked body to Sherlock's towel draped one. He reached for a kiss, and after a tiny hesitation Sherlock tentatively joined with his lips. John's tongue dipped between his lips, drawing his boyfriend deeper and for once Sherlock didn't pull away immediately, allowing John to tug him towards the bed.

"Lestrade is waiting…"

"Greg will wait for you to get there even if it's another hour. And really, I don't think it's going to take that long…"


	4. Chapter 4

Q let himself into 221b, shrugging out of his parka and dropping it on the floor by the door, kicking off his shoes and leaving them on the rug. He slid his hands over Bond's shoulders, down his chest, and kissed the blond man on the top of his head.

"Got something against coat hooks?" the older man queried, not looking up from the book he was reading.

"Neat freak," muttered Q, nibbling the top of one of his boyfriend's ears. Q _loved_ Bond's ears, they were quite possibly the most _perfect_ man ears he had ever had the pleasure to kiss, nibble, suck and lick, and it made his lover shiver with pleasure.

"Stop trying to distract me and pick your bloody coat up Q. You're such a slob at times."

Q rolled his eyes, his most distinctly Holmesian trait, but did as Bond asked, hanging up his jacket and even moving his shoes to the corner, in the absence of a proper shoe rack in the flat. When he was done he flopped into Bond's lap, shoving his book out of the way so he could snog the older man properly.

"I missed you, you gorgeous man. The whole of Q-branch are asking after you; 006 just can't terrorise in the same way."

"Three more days before they let me back in the building Q. Medical wants to see me on Friday."

Q pulled back, staring deeply into Bond's eyes, searching out any trace of the eye injury he had sustained three weeks earlier that had earned him enforced leave. His concern was so endearing, Bond kissed him lightly on the nose, earning a scowl.

"I'm not fucking _seven_!"

"I should hope you didn't know words like that when you were seven," Bond replied mildly, tugging Q's shirt out of his jeans so he could slide his calloused hand over the younger man's flat stomach. He pushed his shirt higher so he could reach his nipple, brushing across it with his thumb while his mouth moved over Q's neck.

"Sherlock was my twelve year old brother. By the time I was seven I could swear in five different languages and order alcohol in three. He was an excellent teacher. He taught me how to give a banana a blow job too."

Bond froze, hand halfway in Q's trousers. "Please tell me that didn't happen when you were _seven!"_

"Course not, I was probably about thirteen or so. Mycroft walked in and nearly had a heart attack when he saw how good I was at fellating fruit. He had a huge fight with Sherlock, and then told Mummy who just said 'that's nice dear'."

"Mycroft hasn't kidnapped me in at least a month; I don't think he loves me anymore. How you made it to adulthood with the brothers you have is a miracle, but the bonus for me is you are exceptionally good at fellatio. I bet you made a lot of bananas very happy."

"Mm," Q agreed as Bond curled his fingers around Q's half hard cock, circling the head with a lazy thumb. "Oh yes... That's good..." Bond nibbled along his collar bone pausing to suck a deep purple bruise on Q's shoulder. "Want to go upstairs...?" Bond squeezed and began to lazily stroke him to fullness. "Please James...? Before they come home...?"

Bond scooped his boyfriend into his arms, carrying him easily to the upstairs bedroom where he dropped him onto the bed, falling beside him. Their kisses grew ever more heated, Bond rolling onto his back and pulling Q on top of him so he could strip him of his cardigan and shirt. He barely managed half the buttons before Q was impatiently pulling both off over his head, knocking his glasses skew whiff in the process. Bond smiled indulgently, straightening them for him.

"I would tell you to get contacts for moments like this if I didn't find your glasses so hot."

"Stop talking and fuck me James."

"Demanding little prick, aren't you?" Bond chuckled reaching for the lube on the bedside table, chucking a pillow at Q. "Get naked, arse up."

Q kicked off his trousers and underwear, shuffling over the pillow, upper torso resting on the bed. He carefully placed his glasses on the table and then cushioned his head on his folded forearms watching Bond undress unreasonably slowly.

"You know what my favourite part of you is?"

"My cock?" Bond caressed his impressive erection a foot from Q's kiss-swollen lips. Q sighed.

"Your pecs. You have exceptionally hot pecs."

"Last time it was my ears, the time before that was my knees. _Never_ my cock Q?"

"It's outstanding, love, now please use it to good effect."

Bond kissed down every bump of his spine until he reached the spot near the base that never failed to make his lover squirm. He rested his hands on Q's bony hips and stroked both thumbs over it with just the right amount of pressure to start him wriggling against the pillow and then laved his tongue over it. The sudden warm wet sensation sent a shiver along the length of Q's back. "Oh lovely..."

"You certainly are..." Bond murmured, moving hands over Q's buttocks, thumbs brushing the crease of his arse, tongue trailing a warm wet stripe down to his puckered entrance. He flicked the tip over his hole, chuckling at Q's breathy "oh god James... Yes _please_..." Bond's tongue teased over the tight ring of muscle, probing and stroking, dipping and licking, until it relaxed under his ministrations and he pressed one finger in unbearably slowly to the knuckle. Q groaned, pressing back against him like he could go further.

"Stop teasing James you bastard!"

"Language Q or do you want me to stop?" Bond laughed removing his finger.

"No," he wailed, "just... more and faster... Please?"

"As you wish, Your Highness."

Bond popped the cap on the bottle drizzling his fingers and palm generously with lube, slicking up his cock and reaching round to give Q's three lazy pulls with his slippery hand. Q tried to thrust into his fist, anything to chase that beautiful sensation, but Bond released him with a tight squeeze that bordered on the uncomfortable. Before Q could protest however, two fingers were pushing firmly but carefully into his arse, and his knees were nudged further apart so is lover's other hand could cup and roll his balls. He worked his fingers slowly for a few thrusts, and then curled his fingers to slide over Q's prostate. The younger man's response was immediate, lower body lurching into the pillow so hard Bond's fingers almost slipped free of him.

"Needy boy," James chuckled. Q growled but kept his comment to himself when James added a third and started enthusiastically finger-fucking him, connecting with his prostate every second or third stroke.

"Oh fuck... that's... oh god... want you now... pl.. plea... _Please_!"

Q yelled when Bond pulled out with a deliberate drag of the pads of his fingers across his prostate that almost caused Q to lose it there and then. Before he had a chance to properly recover Bond was sliding home with force that had Q scrabbling at the sheets and keening. So full, so _damn_ full, and _oh god it was glorious_. Bond stopped for a second, balls deep, giving Q a moment. "Ok?"

"Y-yes..."

"Good." Bond pulled out almost completely and slammed in once more, loving the sound Q made, somewhere between a scream and a sigh and completely, utterly _Q_. Q's dark curls were damp with sweat at the nape of his neck, a light sheen of perspiration across his back, his chest pressed to the bed. "God you're gorgeous. I could do this forever."

"You... don't have... the stamina... old ma-an... Oh god, yes, harder... there, oh fuck, _there_... I'm going to... _Fuck_!" He panted between thrusts, bracing himself on his forearms and screaming out the final obscenity as he came suddenly and unexpectedly over the pillow without being touched. The shock wave through his body tightened around Bond and he emptied himself into the younger man shouting Q's name.

Q's body abandoned any attempt to hold him up and he sagged onto the sticky pillow, Bond collapsing heavily on top of him. They lay for long minutes, each listening to the other breathe. Q winced slightly when Bond slipped free but reassured his lover with "So good."

"Mm, very good for an old man I think you'll find. Don't disrespect your elders, darling, or they might just prove you wrong." Bond kissed him between the shoulder blades and rolled off him, returning with a box of tissues so they could clean up. The pillow was tossed onto the floor and the duvet was dragged over them, Q snuggling against Bond's chest, the older man petting his hair.

"I love you James," Q murmured, "everyone should feel like this."

Bond smiled and hugged him. "You're a bit if a romantic at heart. Love you too."

"How's it going with John?"

Bond laughed, shoulders and chest shaking beneath his young lover. "You bring that up _now_? Put it this way, if your brother doesn't open his eyes soon I'll be buggering John over the breakfast table by Friday. Probably while Sherlock eats his cereal from it. "

"Is it wrong that I find that image a turn on?"

"Only if you're thinking of John and not me. I don't know why you can't just talk to Sherlock about it. This bizarre plan of yours is far more dangerous than half my missions."

"You can't talk to Sherlock about _feelings_. He needs data, evidence, experience, so you have to _show_ him how he feels. How can that be dangerous?"

"Hmm let me see... A certain protective big brother by the name of Mycroft Holmes? The littlest Holmes boy's lover is seducing the most annoying Holmes boy's fiancé, who appears quite willing to drop his trousers for just a little bit of affection. If Mycroft finds out John and I will have a considerably reduced lifespan."

"Oh. Good point. But that is _incredibly_ hot!" He grinned up at Bond, green eyes shining.

"My slow, agonising death turns you on? Good to know Q."

"It'll be fine. I have the ability to destroy their lives with a few keystrokes if they try to hurt you. Just be more obvious, then Sherlock will get jealous and start taking notice of John again."

"And we'll all live happily ever after? You're gorgeously naive, but for a delicate twig of a man you're bloody scary. Shall we clean up and start dinner? Flirting over an omelette might get your brother's attention. Maybe you could try being a little jealous yourself, before I start believing you don't care."


	5. Chapter 5

It was ridiculous really. Two grown men in their early forties mock wrestling, _tickling_ one another, in a battle for the remote control while their respective partners watched from across the room with equal expressions of bemusement. Q's expression was largely faked, although he watched where Bond's hands strayed a little more closely than he would have done had Bond not made his dig about Q's lack of jealousy. Sherlock, on the other hand, was equal parts confused and discomforted at his fiancé wriggling and _squealing_ beneath another man and apparently enjoying it. Rather too much if the silly soppy grin was any indication. Bond prised the remote from John's fingers holding it out of reach as the shorter man struggled, laughing beneath the press of Bond's thigh pinning him to the sofa.

"Beg for it," Bond purred, holding John's dark blue gaze with his ice-blue and smirking.

Q glanced at his brother to find him sitting rigidly in his seat, fists clenched on his knees and jaw tight, glaring at the shadowy side of the room where the other two men giggled. He allowed himself a small smile and muttered so only Sherlock could hear. "Un-_fucking_-believable. Your fiancé isn't content with groping _me_ in the shower, so now he's having a crack at James?"

Sherlock frowned at his younger sibling. "It's not John's fault! Your boyfriend has no self-control. He keeps _touching_ him. Q, why does he keep _touching_ him?" Sherlock's normally composed exterior was clearly rattled, his voice betraying surprising anxiety. Q felt slightly mean until he noticed Bond was still sprawled halfway across John and they were talking softly, the television war apparently forgotten. Bond pushed himself to sitting with one hand in the centre of John's chest, trailing it suggestively south until it brushed across John's groin. John grinned and sat up too, pushing to his feet eagerly and heading to the hallway to grab his jacket.

"We're going out for a pint. See you later."

"No!" Sherlock was across the room in a flash, blocking his exit, Q not too far behind him in case things got out of hand.

"No?" Queried John, shrugging into his sleeves. "I'm not spending another evening watching you and your brother stare at a bloody laptop, Sherlock. James and I are going out for some fun."

"No you're not. You're not going anywhere with him."

"_What_?"

"I'll come. I'll come for a pint too."

"What? You hate the pub. You moan from the minute we enter to the time we leave. Just stay at home. We won't be long ok?"

Bond was leaning casually against the wall watching the exchange with some amusement. He raised an eyebrow at Q's small frown but stepped in to wrap him in his arms and kissed him lovingly.

"Be good," Q said a little sullenly suddenly not at all sure about letting his mad plan run its course.

"Aren't I always? Can't get into too much trouble in a public bar." He leaned in to nuzzle Q's neck, whispering "With any luck this will be the push he needs and I'll finally be all yours again."

Q pushed him away. "Go!"

The two men clattered down the stairs, slamming the door behind them as they went laughing into the street. Sherlock watched them go from the window until they were out of sight, and then dropped into his chair, dressing gown flying in a swirl of anger. Q settled in John's chair, laptop balanced on his knees, and prepared for a very long couple of hours. It only took ten minutes however for Sherlock to be on his feet, pacing the room like a restless tiger. Q's fingers pecked at the keys, checking work files and avoiding the apps he knew would allow him to see where his partner was, even if he couldn't check exactly what he was up to.

"Will you please sit down Sherlock? It's very unsettling to have you stalking around when I'm trying to concentrate."

"How do you stand it?" His brother demanded, halting in front of him and scowling down at the top of Q's head.

Q pushed his glasses up his nose and regarded his older sibling calmly. "Stand what?"

"The _attention_ he gives other people."

The younger man shrugged. "It's who he is, who I fell for. I know what he's like and I don't worry about it."

"You should." He fell into his chair once more, biting his thumb tensely. "How long have they been gone?"

"Oh for fucks sake Lockie, what _is_ your problem? James is a flirt, always has been, always will be. He's even tried it on with you in the past, before he knew you very well, obviously. Yes, I know about that, he told me when he first found out you were my brother. We have this thing called honesty, and that's why it works. I trust him implicitly." _Almost_, he amended in his head, given that he seemed to get on far better with John than Q had expected, but Sherlock didn't need to know about any doubts he may have. "If anything happens, it won't be down to James."

"What are you saying? That John…?"

"You only notice John when he's paying attention to someone else and right now that someone is my partner. James just happens to be someone who responds rather obviously to flattering attention. The difference between you and I is that I make sure the only person he _wants_ to be with is _me_."

Sherlock was silent for a long while, chewing on his thumb, staring vacantly into space. Q carried on working, but his mouse pointer kept drifting to the app he knew would locate his lover wherever he was in London. He wasn't strictly supposed to have it, or use it for anything other than sanctioned missions, but James was a master at getting himself into trouble, and Q liked the security of knowing he could find him if necessary. In the end he opted for a far less cloak and dagger method.

**Where are you?**

_Red Lion. Third road on the right, heading south. Join us?_

Q chuckled. Bond could always be relied upon to give precise directions; Q was actually amazed he hadn't sent a set of co-ordinates.

"Come on. We're going out."

Sherlock grumbled all the way to the pub and for the entire time it took Q to buy two pints of Coke. He was still complaining for the few minutes it took for them to locate their partners in the busy room. Sherlock glowered from John to Bond and back again, noting the careful distance between them. He catalogued John's rumpled shirt, his hair tufting on one side as though someone had pushed their fingers through it, and his slightly swollen lips and reddened skin from kissing someone who could do with a shave. He couldn't fail to notice the rather impressive love bite John was trying to hide under his upturned collar, or the matching two on Bond's neck that Q lightly ran his fingers over while they talked quietly. Q didn't look mad, but Sherlock could always tell when his little brother was worried, and this liaison between Bond and John was not making him happy at all, no matter how confident of Bond's fidelity he claimed to be.

John was watching Sherlock anxiously, no doubt expecting a scene to erupt. What he was not expecting was to be swept into his fiancé's arms and kissed to within an inch of his life, but he was not complaining _at all_. When they finally broke apart, Sherlock growled "Home," in his ear and dragged him from the pub, walking briskly back to Baker Street towing a very irritated John behind him like an errant child.

"Well, that seemed to work," Bond said. "Hopefully they make it home before tearing each other's clothes off."

"Hmm, yes."

"Q…?"

"I'm fine. Just got a little uncomfortable with the situation towards the end there. I… If this hasn't worked, I don't think I want to carry on with it James. It's too hard to see you with John, even if it isn't real, and… well, I don't normally waste time on feeling insecure, when it's work, but this is…"

"Shut up Q. You are the _only_ man I want, and thank god this whole charade is over. He's a nice enough guy but I really didn't want to take things any further." He brushed his lips over his lover's in a gently reassuring kiss. "I would suggest going home, but…"

"Yes… not really sure I want to see that either. Share a bag of chips?"

"Sounds great. I'll just take these glasses back to the bar and I'm ready. See you outside?" Bond watched Q head to the door, smiling after him. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and reluctantly ensured all incriminating evidence was deleted from his phone before following. Sometimes straying beyond his brief wasn't worth the risk, but John Watson had proved an interesting diversion.

**A/N: This story originally finished here, but I started work on another chapter which I may or not publish, depends how it goes.**


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